


To Him. By Her.

by tsukhood



Series: To My One True Love [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Death, F/M, Graphic Description of Corpses, Grief/Mourning, Nature Magic, POV First Person, Poetic, Rituals, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23368195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsukhood/pseuds/tsukhood
Summary: In this story, Rey is an adept of some kind of pagan religion. She writes a lifelong letter about how she connects with her departed love's energy, and explains the depth of her grief.[Written 5 days after Kylo Ren's death.]
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: To My One True Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1680730
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	To Him. By Her.

**Author's Note:**

> after debating a lot, i decided to start posting some of my more personal work. those stories were written each one in one night, no editing, they're almost vent art. they sound quite similar in themes/style, especially this one and 'And he doesn't open his eyes.'.
> 
> the rituals described there are not from any specific religion. that's just what i would do if i were Rey...
> 
> and i like writing without capital letters, it feels more like a whisper than a bold statement. sometimes you just need some words to sound like that as you read them.

i'm bringing him home with me.

4 days have come, knocked at my door and then left. for me, it's day 1.

it's all over again. it's all over the place.

i won't picture his name, as the sound of it would hurt too much.

which name? he had two. 

names. too many names. names of men. the other side. the other people.

it seems i'm alone again.

i'll give him a grave. i'm not too fond of digging, but i will bury him, and hope there's still a bit of him on the sweater.

i brought home the sweater. it was stained with his blood, and smelled of man sweat. it felt like there was a man there. alive. breathing. sweating.

it will become part of the earth. i love this. it's soft. it's alive. it's calling for me.

the voices won't stop, will they? it hurts physically when the noise is more intense than the feelings. the thoughts are gone, they have been for a while. nothing else matters.

i'm happy and i'm sad. we win, i win. he lost, we lose.

i will hope there is a strand of hair still stuck to the sweater. i can't see, as it's all black.

his hair was never black. it was a deep shade of brown. it was the same colour of mine. i am good at seeing colour, as i grew up dealing with only nuance, and brown.

he was fiery, so he should burn. he was volatile like water, so he should be laid somewhere his body decayed until it became liquid. he never had a steady ground, so i should bury him. instead, he was gone with the air.

he flew away like a bird. but the thing is, the birds too decay. their feathers become garments, their muscles feed the earth, their tiny bones show the world they once existed. delicate bones, hollow and forming intricate shapes.

his bones were heavy. he was heavy. big and strong, like a wall. thousands of generations of little birds. thousands of generations.

i could keep his hair, i would. i definitely would. i made beautiful things of hair. i'd braid it into an embellishment and wear it on my clothes, on my possessions. silky black-brown hair, the fiber so soft and alive. alive forever.

i would wear his teeth. they were always too big for his mouth. i would make them a necklace of pure white, and a pair of bracelets, to be worn when i needed him around me. around my neck, and my wrists. his teeth grazing my skin. i can almost feel his breath.

would i keep his skull? i will never know. the thought of holding his head, almost twice the size of mine, comforts me. the thought of gazing at his hollow eyes, where once lived the wildest of the stares, frightens me.

but it's all gone. 

i keep wearing the sweater. it's three times my size, and feels like a blanket. i can't keep it on too long, it pricks me. there's too much attached to it to allow me to wear it.

i will wait for a day the moon looks pretty. ah, he was a creature of the night, wasn't he? where the stars shine, there he lives. 

i will wait for the silence. for the whisper. 

only the fire making its noises.

i don't sing, so i won't sing. he was quiet. he spoke with his eyes. his voice grew husky from the lack of use. so will mine.

he won't get ancient prayers. 

i will just hope he made it safe to the other side.

can you see my surroundings? i can't see his. i can't see him.

only feel him.

nothing else matters.

time goes by. ancient magic. i don't care about the days, for me it's still day 1.

i am an old witch. i am a powerful man. i died too young.

he was only 30 years old.

my hands ache for not preparing the food that feeds him. they feed myself.

my arms ache for not embracing his warmth. they grew cold.

my lips are dry, as i'll never again kiss him. they only speak prophecies.

the kids i'll never have fear me when i pass by.

i'm happily sad. when i was a young boy, i only knew sadness.

when i was a young girl, i finally met happiness.

once i was fire, now i'm earth.

the daylight hurts me, as much as it hurt him.

i grew paler than him. i am scenery.

i pray every day. i greet the medicine, the surroundings, the energy that slowly leaves me.

i am a legend. he was a man. i am an idea. he was a change on the plans.

come at me with a severed arm. i'll make it grow again. 

but i will never be able to grow myself a new heart.

come at me with adventure. i shall embark.

but it will never be as exciting as just holding him softly.

i am full of hope. 

i hope the seeds i planted grow into beautiful, tall, strong and happy trees. 

their brown-black leaves towering me, silently watching for me.

their thick trunks and branches, so pale and steady.

i hope my friends have beautiful children, beautiful spouses and beautiful stories.

their smiles feed me what my hands can't cook.

i hope one day i'll be able to converse with the stars.

i hope one day there will be no more wars.

but above all of this, i hope one day my wait will be over.

i'm pretty good at waiting.


End file.
